


Dusk and Dawn

by bookish_cupcake



Series: Hel of The Forgotten [8]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Norse Religion & Lore
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 15:53:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9392327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookish_cupcake/pseuds/bookish_cupcake
Summary: Hel, the Goddess of Death, and Phil Coulson have children. It goes as well as expected. So, not really.Same Phil and that sort of universe from "Hel, No Longer Forgotten."





	1. Chapter 1

The unexpected occurs, leaving Hel pregnant with twin girls. 

 **Part One:** Seeds

i.

Hel snipped the long raven curls of her father. Loki squirmed on the chair, and she flicked him on the head. “Don’t make your only ally slice your ear, Father.”

“You know how much I enjoy quality family time, especially after my prison in Asgard.”

“So you decide to join me in mine?”

Loki hummed a tune while she continued cutting his long hair. Once done, he stretched legs, ordered a servant to fetch him a mirror. As he admired his daughter’s work, he casually mentioned he knew a way for her to leave Helheim.

He reached nonchalantly into his coat, bringing forth a leather-bound book. A spell, he said, when cast on the freshly dead would bring them back to life. In turn, the caster would be linked to them; able to appear beside him or her.

“Why are you telling me this?”

She did not trust the sincere smile.

“Can’t a father wish for a daughter’s happiness?”

ii.

Slippery as ever, Loki snuck into Valhalla to a pluck a spirit worthy of the spell. Fresh and fierce were excellent qualities for the spell to succeed. Lo and behold when the description fit a victim of his mischief. With the steps of a fox, Loki swiftly crept behind the deceased mortal. His fingers coiled around the mortals wrists.

“It’s been too long,” the Trickster teased.

As Phil Coulson reacted in shock, Valhalla vanished in a pop.

At her father’s return, Hel arched a brow at her father’s mad laughter. She sincerely hoped the laughter wasn’t heredity. The last thing she desired was going mad in her later years.

The mortal her father selected had passed out after the teleportation. Not that she could blame him. The process was woozy the first several times.

Loki placed the unconscious body on a wooden slab. Hel brought out three stone bowls. One for her blood. One for his blood. Another for a different, violet concoction.

The man’s eyes fluttered open, widening at the sight of Hel. She offered him a sincere smile.

“Do not fret. I am eighty percent positive that you will be revived.” She placed fingers on his eyes. “Now sleep.”

The ritual begun, and man was reborn.

iii.

For the most part, aside from the odd dream, Coulson adapted well to being resurrected. SHIELD and paperwork was hell, but life returned to being routine. Yet he didn’t like it. Death had been pleasant. He expected to die in his line of work. He had accepted it. He had been content before chaos flung him in a new direction.

Hel popped up one evening while Coulson was a reading a book. She casually leaned against the doorframe, inspecting the agent’s apartment. Upon sight, he uncurled from the sofa and drew his handgun in one fluid motion. Sweat trickled down his neck.

“You,” he said, the syllable dripping with poison. “I was content with death.”

Hel rolled her eyes. “Please. Nobody is content with death, not truly.”

Coulson cocked his gun.  Hel strode calmly in front of her, placing a dark finger on the cool metal of the gun. “Do not think that you can kill me, little agent” Her fingertip continued down the barrel of the gun, reaching the unshaken agent’s hand. “And it appears that I cannot kill you of my conventional methods.”

The goddess shrugged, and made her way to the door.

“Well, farewell for now, mortal; there’s a whole new realm for me to explore. Ta.”

She waved good-bye, not a care the world. If anything, she expected her life to become very un-routine, and she _welcomed_ it.

Coulson watched, gun still trained, as the goddess fell to heap the moment she stepped outside his door. She curled in pain, feeling as if her insides were about to explode.

“Are you okay?”

That act of kindness would later unravel, revealing to be their downfall.

He touched her, and she froze. The pain vanished. She looked up at him in shock, but for a different reason.

“You touched me,” she said in a flabbergasted tone.

“Astute observation,” he commented as he helped her to her feet with one hand. His other hand still held the gun.

“I’m queen for a reason,” she replied.

“A queen who wishes to escape?”

“Never said I cared for the job.”

Coulson smiled in spite himself. He really, _really_ shouldn’t like talking with this woman. He didn’t even properly know her name. Thor informed that the woman who revived him, judging from the description, was most likely Hel the Goddess of Death.

Before Coulson could respond, Hel blipped out of sight.

iv.

To the surprise of them both, Hel found herself in the presence of Coulson more often. “Helheim is dull,” was the often treaded excuse. The agent did not understand this. In his time spent in the afterlife, Coulson was completely fascinated. All of the dead had so many stories to tell and laughter to share. Was the bright landscape of Valhalla so different from her home?

Nonetheless, they enjoyed each other’s company. A new drink with so many different flavors, ready to be tasted. Hel needed release from Helheim, and Coulson found her to be the most adjusted out of the gods he had met. Self-proclaimed, billionaire gods included.

After a few trials, the pair learned that Hel could not leave Coulson’s presence due to the spell if she came to Midgard. Or perhaps it was because she was using the spell. They could not determine, being she had no other way to enter Midgard.

A few months had pass since their odd friendship begun, when Coulson mentioned he was turning forty-six. He joked if his birthdays still counted or if maybe he should start over.

At her next visit, Hel brought two bottles of honey wine, one in each hand. She grinned, her pearly white contrasting against the ashen black of half her body. She handed him a bottle.

“The anniversary of your resurrection is an event I’m much more keen on celebrating,” she mentioned as she popped open the bottle. “Then I will break out the quality spirits.”

“I look forward to it.”

A few drinks and happy birthdays later, the bottles are half empty. He was looking forward to what Hel considered quality.

Tonight, Coulson is very aware of the icy blue pendant that droops just above her bosom. Her grin turned impish, eyes lit with mischief. She tugged on his tie, bringing him closer.

As he leaned into to her kiss, Coulson’s mind reeled. Was he kissing death?

His slightly calloused fingers trailed the lace of her white blouse. Soon enough, his flesh met her. She felt like winter on his fingertips and tasted of mint. The night continued, the mistress of death and the subject becoming one.

When they celebrated the anniversary of his resurrection seven months later, Hel meant what she said.

v.

The Goddess of Death did not expect to heave up her insides one morning, but it occurred nonetheless. The whole experience had been quite odd; she couldn’t recall the last time had puked. Despite being surrounded by illness and spreading disease, Hel had never been sick before.

She called upon her maidservant, Ganglot. The maidservant came rushing in at her Mistress’s call. Ganglot stopped on her heels when she saw last night’s dinner on the floor.

“I will fetch mop, Mistress.”

“Wait,” said Hel. “I do not know why I am ill. I have stomached worse cooking, and I simply do not get ill.”

Ganglot coughed and averted her eyes.

“What is it?”

Red stained her cheeks. “Mistress, I do not think it is my place to—”

“Spit. It. Out.”

“You saw the mortal man a few weeks ago, correct? Did you, um, do the deed?”

“Get out.”

Once her maidservant left, Hel realized the puke was still there. She lied back down in bed, pinched her nose, and tried to do some reasonable thinking. She failed miserably at it. She needed a nurse. There had to be a nurse somewhere amongst her dead.

vi.

A loud banging woke Coulson. In a matter of seconds, he grabbed his gun from beneath his pillow and stalked quietly to door. The knock came again, even louder this time. He peeked through the hole.

There was a great sigh of relief, followed by worry.

It was Hel. His killer’s daughter, his friend, his occasional bed partner. Coulson’s life was complicated.

He unlocked the door and pressed in the security numbers. Death makes a guy cautious. He opened the door, and Hel breezed in right pass him. Before he could ask if something was wrong, she slapped him.

“This is your fault.”

He stared at her, trying to piece together what happened. Her stance seemed more guarded than usual, a protective head around her tummy. No. No, no, _no_.

“Are you…?”

“Twins.”

Coulson’s life became even more complicated.

vii.

Coulson sat bewildered in the sofa, the knowledge that he would soon have two daughters sinking in. Hel sat in the rocking chair on the other side of the living. The chair was a gift he crafted for his mother’s upcoming birthday, but seeing Hel in it made him stifle a laugh. Him being a father was something he could accept in due time.

But Hel being a mother? The Goddess of Death giving birth?

They weren’t even married. Or properly a couple. Jesus, what if one of them was an animal like her siblings?

“Names,” Coulson finally said out loud. “We need names.”

“It is typical to think of names after the child is born. We see who they are once they enter the world, and not before.”

“We need to at least consider naming options. They are as much your children as they are mine. Right?”

She scowled at the last word. “Do you imply otherwise?”

Coulson sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Sorry. It’s just… we’re not exactly official and I don’t know what goes on with you outside my apartment.” Although he felt relieved after voicing the concern that’s been ebbing at him for months, her hurt expression sent pain to his gut.

“There is no one but you,” she icily informed.

He apologized again. Damn it, what had he gotten himself into. If only he had stayed dead.

She did not voice her forgiveness, but there was less hurt. “What names do you suggest?”

He gets up from the sofa, feeling the need for a beer. He tried not to think that booze was another factor in this mess. “I always liked the names Sophia and Rachel,” he said while open the fridge. Beer in hand, he went back to the living room and leaned against the wall. “Or maybe Elsa?”

Hel shook her head and he opened his beer. “I do not care for any of these. Thor speaks of a tradition where you name the child after family?” He nodded. “I cannot imagine naming a child after my ancestors or my siblings.”

“Bad luck,” he said.

“Ill omens, indeed,” she agreed. “What of your family?”

“My mom and pop are Mary and James.” He took another sip, and she shook her head. “What about Evangeline? That’s my sister’s name.”

“… go on.”

He smiled at the interested he grabbed. “It means bearer of good news.”

They decided to name one daughter Evangeline and wait until the births to name the other.

His worries faded in Hel’s presence. Yeah, he would have to inform SHIELD of his offspring and relationship with Hel eventually. The Avengers could wait, though if Stark preemptively hacked into SHIELD, that wouldn’t end well. If Coulson was completely honest with himself, he would worry about Hel’s family. Specifically her father.

Hel placed, rocking back and forth in the chair that he built. He imagined a family running through the apartment. He thought of teaching his daughters how to defend themselves and attack when need be. He thought of the family recipes to pass down and the play dates to arrange.

They were going to be a family. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Part two:** Blossoming

i.

Relief flooded Phil. His children were born relatively normal looking. No dragon tails or lion heads to speak of. No multiple limbs or icy touches.

Hel slept soundlessly, exhausted after giving birth. After holding her daughters and seeing that they were safe, she decided to let Loki and Phil take care of them so she could rest.

Phil held his daughter in his arms. She had pale, chubby cheeks and tiny curls of white hair. For now, she was lulled in a peaceful sleep, murky grey hiding behind closed eyelids. Evangeline, they named her. The agent kissed Evangeline’s forehead before looking over at Loki.

The god was smiling down at his granddaughter, Róta. Icy green eyes blinked up at him. Her ash grey fingers curled around his index finger as Loki murmured a spell. A light green glow emitted from Róta, eliciting a giggle from her before the glow died down.

“It is to keep them save from Heimdall’s gaze,” Loki explained, seeing Phil ready to open his mouth. “And from Odin’s eye.”

They switched children so Loki could perform the same spell on Evangeline. When complete, Loki spoke so softly as to not disturb his sleeping daughter.

“My daughter is not meant to give life,” he said, eyes never straying from the little one in his arms. “You will treat her well.”

Phil found it peculiar that the Trickster was finally acting like he cared about family, but he swore an oath nonetheless.

ii.

A year passed slowly.

Phil knew it wasn’t going to be easy.

For the most part, the children stayed with their mother in Helheim. Phil tried to remain reasonable. He was an agent of SHIELD and that meant frequently being off on missions. He knew that Hel, despite saying how boring Helheim was, still had queenly duties to attend to. But Phil doubted the suitability of Helheim being a good place to raise children.

Helheim was the place for the dead. It smelt of ill flesh and disease. The air was cold and full of death. He tried not to think how Hel lived there since she was a little girl.

On the weekends that Phil wasn’t on missions, Hel brought the children over. This was one of those weekends. Although his daughters were still tiny, Phil made sure to hide all the firearms.

Hel rolled her eyes, watching him put away the gun he was cleaning before she popped up. She decided not tell him of all the blades and weapons that her servants kept on their persons.

The two adults both set on the sofa. Evangeline and Róta scooted around on the floor.

“I want my family to meet them,” Phil said.

Aside from the occasional gibberish, the daughters remained quiet and unaware of what their parents were speaking. The words were merely sounds without meaning.

 “No.”

 “Because?”

“It is dangerous. I only let Father see them so he could perform the spell. He hasn’t been around since.”

“We named Evangeline after my _sister_. My sister doesn’t even know she’s an aunt.”

Róta patted her hands on Evangeline’s head, marveling at the texture of hair. Still bald, Róta had no hair of her own.

“Nothing good will come from it,” she muttered.

Evangeline was complacent, letting her sister do as she pleased. If their parents were not arguing, perhaps they would notice the little oddities.

“They’re my children too,” Phil pointed out.

Then again, the children’s parents weren’t exactly normal.

“Give me time,” Hel finally relented.

iii.

Thor popped up on the apartment doorstep one day, much to the surprise of Hel. She promptly shut the door, and slowly turned to glare at Phil.

“Haven’t told anyone, huh?”

He paused. “I…” He was sitting on the floor with Róta, Evangeline, and stacks of building blocks.

“No, no. Please go on.”

“I was asking Thor of the possibilities of what… children might look like if a mortal were to have children with a giantess. I didn’t think he would catch on.”

He would later realize that Thor wasn’t as dim as people credited him, and the Asgardian noticed a few changes in Coulson and his routine. It had taken Thor over a year, but he caught on.  

There was loud knocking on the door followed by Thor’s booming voice. “Fear not, Lady Hel. I bare no ill will. I wish to welcome my new family into the world!”

Hel sighed. She gave Phil the pointed look before opening the door.

Thor, unlike his typical apparel, wore clothing the majority of his skin: a long sleeved red flannel shirt with simple gloves and funny looking scarf that covered his neck. He beamed at Hel, and she felt a tug at her heart.

Memories of playing with her uncle as a kid resurfaced, but she pushed them back. That was before the fall to Helheim.

Thor stepped inside. Hel didn’t realize that her uncle could get any happier, but he simply _radiated_ with joy at the sight of her thirteen months old daughters.

“This is Róta and Evangeline,” Phil introduced. “Girls, this is your Uncle Thor. He’s a superhero.”

Thor picked up Róta, swinging her up in the air and smiling brightly up at her. “Hello little one.  What a fine warrior’s name. Excellent choice! I am Thor, son of Odin!” He thought it a bit odd that scalp remained free of hair, yet she waved down at him and his concern melted.

Thor set Róta down and scooped up little Evangeline in his arms. “And a fine hello to you too. I am Thor, son of Odin!”

In the gibberish that came out of Evangeline’s mouth, Hel swore she heard Thor’s name.

She leaned against the wall, watching Thor play with the children and the blocks.

iv.

Phil’s sister finally knew about her nieces’ existences. They arranged a day when Genie was going to stop by at Phil’s apartment to visit them. The day beforehand, trouble brewed in Helheim due to an unusual influx in residents. Phil repeatedly told Hel that he could handle the children and sister by himself, and she finally relented. He had been on life threatening missions beforehand, after all.

The doorbell rang, and Phil carefully stepped across the floor that had been commandeered with dolls and playthings. Róta and Evangeline looked up curiously at the door. It wasn’t often they had a visitor.

Phil opened the door and greeted his sister. Genie came in the apartment. In her hands was a bouquet of flowers that she grew from her garden.  Phil took them off her hands and set them on the end table.

Genie waved at the children. “Hello. I’m Aunt Genie. Your dad told me all about you girls.”

She recalled Phil’s warning to not touch their skin. Just in case. Something about their mother being the Goddess of Death. She couldn’t exactly wrap her head around it, but seeing the two in person made it a little easier to accept. Róta had ash grey skin after all.

Genie set down her bag and sat down next to Evangeline and Róta. She brought out a few children’s comic books and some Wonder Woman dolls. Evangeline took the dolls and started playing with them.

Seeing things going well, Phil went to find a vase for the flowers.

When he returned, he joined them. He idly chatted with sister while picking up a doll himself. His doll had a make believe conversation with Evangeline’s doll, and the two Wonder Woman dolls arranged a date for tea and knife cleaning. Momentarily distracted by the peace his sister brought him, they paid no mind to Róta crawling to the end table.

Róta pulled at the small table cloth, a gift from Pepper after she vacationed in Italy. Phil’s attention snapped once he heard the vase fall to the floor, another gift. Before he could scoop up little Róta in his arms away, from the broken shards, she was grasping at the vibrant, colorful flowers from the vase. She had never seen flowers in Helheim before.

Róta curled her pudgy fingers around the long, green stems. The flowers wilted at her touch, then rotted to a gnarled stems. Róta wailed loudly, dropping the wretched thing to floor.  

In Midgard, they had only come in contact with her father before.

His daughter inherited the curse of her mother. 

vi.

Róta stared blankly at the floor. It was old and dingy looking. Grime in the cracks of tiles. It had been five years since what was dubbed “the incident.” Three years of short visits and long in-betweens. She wanted to go back to her father’s and explicitly informed her mother of this one day at the throne room.

“No,” her mother said. “I don’t want you hurting anyone.”

Evangeline popped in, her long white curls striking in contrast to grimness of Helheim. She watched the scene unfold, unusually quiet.

“Liar,” Róta said, the word easing off as if her tongue was made of grease.

 She had spent much of her time reading or listening to and observing the subjects of Helheim. Always learning. Spotting a signs. A natural, her father might say if he saw her more often. Good genes, her grandfather would definitely say.

“I just want you to be safe, little one.”

Hel could only imagine the horrors if word got out. If there was one little slip up in Midgard and the mortals took notice… Well, Loki’s spell didn’t include the mortals. She thought of the pain she went through and didn’t want Róta to experience the same misgivings from their family.

Róta huffed and stormed out of the palace walls. Evangeline followed Róta on the path that led to the river, a slight skip in her steps.  

“Ganglati and Ganglot mimic our footsteps,” Evangeline piped up.

“They are a slow, miserable lot who should rot,” Róta retorted.

“Then who else would you trick into giving us extra pastries?”

“Tis true.”

They reached the river, the boundary between Helheim and Niflheim. Róta plopped down and stuck her feet in the freezing water. The reflection remained Róta of her smooth scalp. She ran her hand across it, trying to imagine what it was like to have hair. Evangeline joined her, but didn’t stick her feet in.

Darkness has settled across the land, the moon being brought up into the sky. Evangeline laid back on the pebbles and the grass. She rattled off the names of the stars and the constellations. As the current brushed along Róta’s feet, the anger and frustration floated away. She eased and listened to her sister ramble.

vii.

The kids were eight now, nearly nine. Through several trials, they discovered that Evangeline did not inherit the same ability as Róta. Evangeline still wore clothing that covered her body just like Róta, saying she wanted to dress like her sister. Since the incident, they spent most of their time in Helheim.

Phil tried to be understanding, but the relationship between him and Hel had been rockier ever since she gave birth. He knew even less of what went on inside her head nowadays. Keeping her family safe was one thing, but confining her daughters to the very walls she tried to breech?

Phil shook his head, determined to enjoy the day.

His daughters were turning nine. Not only were they turning nine, but a miracle occurred. Pepper convinced Tony to let them use Avengers Tower to throw the birthday bash. At first, Phil protested, but Steve convinced him that it was the least they could do.

Evangeline and Róta were big Avengers fans, and listened aptly whenever Thor or their father told stories about them. When they asked real nicely, Phil would let them borrow his Captain America comics if they treated them nicely.

It was a small gathering and thankfully on a day when no misdeeds occurred. The Avengers were there, except for Natasha who had a convert mission to attend to. Pepper and Genie also attended. Phil expected Loki to pop up, but Hel shook her head.

“Too many good-doers about for his liking,” she said. “I suspect he will barge in unannounced in Helheim later… as he does on each of their birthdays,” she muttered the last part.

Phil raised a brow, unaware of the last part.

He watched his children play. Evangeline took turns swinging from Thor’s arm to being caught by Clint. Róta remained quiet. She stood next to Steve, listening to him tell stories about his life before he became a soldier.

Phil took a sip of the fruit punch and enjoyed himself.

“These past years… I…” Hel started, the words caught in her throat. “I have been unforgivable. I shouldn’t have, I mean… They are a part of you as well as me. I shouldn’t have kept you from them.”

“Is the Goddess of Death apologizing?”

“Don’t look too smug.”

Phil cracked a genuine smile. “There are many years to come. We can still make this work.”

The parents continued watching their children.

Róta went on to pester Tony about science and how it works. The girl didn’t understand the vast majority of it, but she listened to Tony ramble until Bruce stepped into explain things in simpler terms. She still didn’t get, but she preferred Bruce’s quieter demeanor.

Evangeline decided that Steve needed to play “Captain America” with her. Except that she was the Captain, and Steve and Genie were enemy soldiers.

 _Many years_ , Hel thought idly, hoping it to be true.

viii.

There exists the moonflower, which only blooms at night. The white petals unfold; blossoming so only the night may witness the flower’s full beauty. Once sunlight touches the petals, it shrinks back to closing.

At the night’s peak, Evangeline and Róta sprawled out on the rooftop of the tower. Hel sat between them, and they rested their heads on her lap. They gazed up at the full moon, and few stars that managed to break the smoggy skyline.

“The stars are messed up,” commented Evangeline, a scowl marring her pale features.

Hel ran her fingers through Evangeline’s waves of curls. It must have been a trick of the light, because Hel swore she saw strands of grey.

 “No, my dear, you are merely looking at them differently,” she explained in soft voice. “Although, this isn’t the best place in Midgard to look at stars.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Evangeline yawned, and then emitted a tiny cough.

Daybreak was coming. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Part three:**  Wilting

i.

When in Midgard, Róta and Evangeline behaved like somewhat normal eleven year olds. They flipped through the Wonder Woman comics brought over by Aunt Genie. They played hopscotch and jump rope. They watched news footage featuring the Avengers and marveled at the growing numbers. They studied their father’s guns and knives, knowing their uses and purpose should they ever have to use one.

Yet Róta and Evangeline are not in Midgard.

The twins crouched on a rooftop, looking over the streets of Helheim. Róta proposed curiosities, causing them to observe the subjects a few months ago.

_How do we not become overcrowded? Why are some more lively than others? Why do some disappear?_

Thus begun their observations, unknown to their parents. The target was Donal, an elderly man who often indulged them stories of the old country when the twins were younger. Donal no longer spoke of the old country. No more tales of the chickens and the goat, of the herbs and spices cultivated by his grandmother. No more tales of fairies and changelings.

Nowadays he bumbled over the cobblestone steps, hardly paying attention. Sometimes, Evangeline tried speaking to Donal. The man simply stared down at her, as if on the verge of remembering before he continued to walk pass her.

From up on the roof, Evangeline groaned. “He’s just more slow today. This is boring. Can we go home now?”

Róta rolled her eyes. “Fine.”

They crawled to the back of the roof, and Róta leapt off into the alleyway. She held up arms, ready to assist Evangeline who felt sluggish lately.

ii.

 Hel worried for her daughter. Evangeline displayed signs of illness. Her movements slow and her body tired. She teleported into Midgard to visit Phil as their daughters slept in Helheim.

Gunshots rang in the air. She popped straight into one of his missions gone south. Hel stood in the middle of shady warehouse. Phil and his partner were hunched behind a flipped table, taking cover from enemy fire. It took a moment for Hel to adjust, to realize where the enemies were.

Their location was made distinctly clear after a bullet punctured her left shoulder.

“I have no time for petty affairs,” she muttered.

Bullets continued to fire in her direction, a few grazing her and two hitting her right leg. The assault didn’t cease her steady stride to where the three men donning the badge of Hydra awaited.

One had the good sense to run. The other two rotted at her touch. A final gunshot rang in the air, causing the runner to crumple over in a heap.

The partner stared dumbfounded at Hel. “Who… are you?”

Phil eased himself in a standing position, putting his gun away. His brief look of confusion was carefully hidden. Hel only spotted it from years of observation.

“Evangeline has a cold. I will be dropping her off at the apartment tomorrow eve. Be there.”

“I’m on an important mission,” Phil said. “If it’s a just cold, then Genie or—”

“She displays  _signs_ , Phil,” Hel said in a hushed tone. “This is the very beginning of it. You will watch her while I investigate.”

Phil swallowed roughly. “Of course. Anything you need.”

The partner waved his gun. “Um, hello? What’s going on here? Are the rumors true, Agent Coulson? You’re a dad?”

“That’s classified.”

iii.

Evangeline had been in Midgard for five months, leaving Róta alone in Helheim. Their twelfth birthday approached, and Róta didn’t want to spend it away from her sister. Róta also didn’t understand why her sister must be kept in Midgard. Evangeline was sick, but kids got sick all the time.

 _You’re not people_ , Róta reminded herself.  _You are neither human nor god._

The twins were life born from death. They were part of the cycle that the gods adhered to. Róta inherited her mother’s touch, but what did Evangeline inherit? Their father’s mortality?

 Róta spent her time observing Donal until he became nothing but a husk. Her footsteps soft and her small frame hidden, she followed Donal into her mother’s garden. She hid in a bush to watch the scene unfold.

Hel stood near the pond, smiling at the man and ushering him forward. Donal slowly stepped into the black water until it reached his thighs. The water defied gravity and moved along up his skin. The droplets moved upward, coating his flesh and entirety. The black liquid solidified.

A crow from the tree cawed. It flew from the twisting branches and down to the bush where Róta hid. It perched on her shoulder. She tried shooing it without alerting her mother, but the stubborn bird wouldn’t listen.

“Watch closely,” it whispered in her ear.

“Wicked beast,” Róta muttered but heeded the crow’s words.

The black cracked and crumpled. Donal’s flesh fell into the pond, followed by his muscles and bones. A bright light remained.

“His soul, free from restraints constructed by his mind. The physical shell is shed.”

Róta watched the bright light come out of the water. She couldn’t name some of the colors. Donal—Is he still Donal?—exited the pond. He walked over to the tree. The branches curled around the light, coating it until Róta couldn’t see any light emitting from behind the branches.

“He is being taken to Yggdrasil,” said the crow. “Now leave before your mother sees you.”

Away in her room, the crow left Róta’s shoulder and perched itself on her dresser.

“Who are you?” She confronted.

The crow chuckled. Crows weren’t supposed to chuckle.

“Can I not keep an eye on my family?”

The crow fluttered off the dresser and shifted into her grandfather.

“Grandpapa?” Róta grinned and rushed to hug Loki. “I’ve missed your visits!”

Loki smiled and gently embraced his granddaughter. “It’s been longer than I have cared for.” He lifted Róta up and hoisted her onto his shoulders. “Your mother fears I may be a negative influence.”

Róta giggled and clung to him. Her hands in his long, black hair. “Why were you at the garden?”

“Observing matters of importance,” he said off handedly. “Now come, today I’ll take you between realms.”

iv.

Evangeline spent her twelfth birthday without her sister. Instead it was only her, her father, Uncle Thor, and Aunt Genie. Aunt Genie baked Evangeline a cake. It even had layers!

She blew out the candles on her sixth try, wishing for her sister.

v.

Evangeline did her best to understand why she had to stay in Midgard. She knew she was sick, but illnesses pass, right? Evangeline did not like the sad, far off look that her father often got. She did not like Aunt Genie always being over, very active and cheerful, but with an underlining sense of dread. She did not like not being able to see her mother, or more importantly, her sister.

“We don’t know if they’re having an effect on your health,” Phil calmly explained after much pestering from his daughter. It was a bit forward, but Phil thought it best.

“’Cause they’re kind of dead, huh? You think Mama and Róta are bad for me.”

“No, sweetie.” Phil sighed and brought Evangeline onto his lap. He muted the television and held his daughter. “They are not dead nor kind of dead. It’s a bit confusing, but they are a part of death. It’s how they were born. But you were born differently. You’re special. We don’t know what’s making you sick, so we have to be extra careful.” He kissed the top of her head. “You’ll see your sister and Mama again soon, dear.”

“Will I be okay, Papa?”

Phil held her close, not daring to let go. “Of course, dear. Papa’s not gonna let anything happen to his little angel.”

vi.

It was her fifth trip traveling through the space between realms. Róta practiced with her grandfather until he deemed her ready to take the reins. Loki lifted her up and placed her on his shoulders. He grinned, the sort that reminded Róta of the Cheshire Cat.

“Our destination, my dear?”

“Midgard,” Róta whispered and closed her eyes.

Loki provided the power, and Róta would be doing the weaving. The hum of her grandfather’s magic coursed through her. She felt it in her core and sprawled through her veins, reaching the tips of her fingers and toes. She opened her eyes.

Her bed chamber was different. Or perhaps the world was always this way and it was her eyesight that changed. The world was made of colored threads, streams of magic to bend or manipulate. Still atop Loki’s shoulders, Róta reached out. The gold threads in front of the wall were pushed away, revealing a mixture of violet and blues.

They stepped through, entering the pathway through the cosmos. They traveled for what felt like ages, but Róta knew it to be only minutes. The quietness ate at her.

“Me and Evangeline see you on the TV sometimes,” she mentioned.

“Oh?”

“So are you a good guy or a bad guy?”

“Does it matter?” He asked.

“I see you fighting the Avengers sometimes, and they’re good guys, so does that mean you’re a bad guy?”

“Good and bad exist. Good is not always good, and bad is not always bad.”

“Isn’t that a fancy way of saying you’re bad, but only sometimes?”

Loki chuckled. “I am whatever suits my purposes, my dear.”

They reached the end and reopened the door. They stepped out into the girls’ bedroom in Phil’s apartment.

Evangeline’s attention snapped up from her Captain America comic. She haphazardly scrambled out of bed as Róta hopped off her grandfather. A moment before a colliding embrace between two sisters, Evangeline pulled back, worry in her tentative smile.

“What’s wrong?” Róta asked.                                                                                                               

“Mama and Papa think that you and Mama might be making me sick.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“They say they don’t think it, but Papa’s fancy wording doesn’t fool me.”

Róta sighed, but didn’t want to add on to whatever was making her sister to sick. The twins sat on their beds, facing each other. Loki disappeared out the bedroom, not noticed by them. They caught up, talking about miscellaneous activities and daily happenings. Evangeline talked about what she saw on the TV, something Róta didn’t have in Helheim. When she was done, Róta decided to tell Evangeline about her discovery.

“Who’s Donal?” Evangeline asked when Róta began her tale.

Róta furrowed her brow. “The man we were watching. He told us lots of stories before becoming like a zombie and forgeti—” Róta swallowed the word as she said it.

Evangeline noticed the concern on her sister’s face, but was confused. “So, who is Donal?”

Róta shook her head. “It’s nothing.” She notices Evangeline’s hair. The grey had become stronger since last.  “Tell me about your birthday party,” she said.

“Uncle Thor came and so did Aunt Genie. She baked me a cake.”

“Did any of the other Avengers come, like our ninth one?”

Evangeline’s memory of their ninth birthday party was a bit fuzzy, but she clearly remembered looking up at the stars with her sister and mother.

vii.

Loki and Hel departed from the norns, the three old hags who wove the fate of men. There was no mistaking it. No way to stop the process.

As Loki walked and steered their path, he felt his daughter seething rage behind. It rolled off her in brittle waves, accompanied by harsh words.

“This is your fault,” she spat. “Nothing good comes from to our family. Your seed is cursed, and your offspring are condemned monsters!”

Loki didn’t deny it. He didn’t look back at her hot tears.

“You brought him into my life! I just wanted freedom, but now I have dying daughter.” She choked on the words. “I have a dying daughter…”

viii.

“What was I thinking?” Hel murmured. So soft and quiet that Phil had to strain to hear it.

The goddess looked almost human in this moment. Curled up on the sofa, arms lurking over her legs. Human and vulnerable. Like one prick would break her.

“I almost thought that I could do it. That I could break this wordless curse. That I could end this cycle.” Her laughter was dark and bitter, filling up the cold living room. “Ha! Instead I pass my disease to one daughter and the other nears death itself. What load of bullshit.” 

“Hel, I—”

“Go away,” Hel snapped. “Just go.”

Phil refused. Their relationship had been strained pretty much ever since she gave birth. Neither of them knew what they were doing, but he thought it would have been smoothed over by now. Turned out, it would take more than a decade to undo the centuries of forced isolation, relying on only herself, and not trusting anyone else.

Instead, Phil made tea. It was her favorite, simple black tea with a hint of peppermint.

He calmly sat next to her, his fingers in her hair as she sipped the beverage.

“If she is dying,” Phil started gently, “then won’t she be a part of Helheim? Can’t she still ‘live’ in a sense with you?”

“She will fade,” Hel whispered, her voice hoarse. “She will become slow, forgetful. She will become a shell. In the end, her soul will return to Yggdrasil, away from me.”

From behind a corner, Evangeline watched her mother break down and weep. She had never before seen her mother break before.

ix.

Evangeline and Róta were thirteen and far too young to be having this conversation.

Evangeline confirmed with sister. Yes, she was going to die.  She was in Róta arms, her sister’s fingers brushing through the purely grey hair now, strands of it falling out.

 “I don’t want to forget any more. I don’t want be slow. Moving is hard now. It hurts and I… I don’t want to die.”

“I know.”

“It’s not fair.”

“I know.”

The tears were silent as they slid down Evangeline’s cheeks. Róta thought of Donal, and her hands wavered. She didn’t want her sister to be like Donal. She didn’t want Evangeline’s skin and muscles and bones to fall. She didn’t want Evangeline to go.

“What if… What if I skipped the process of fading? What if I went to Yggdrasil before I died?”

“No,” Róta choked. “No. I don’t want you to leave. I don’t. I can’t. I—”

“I want to die as me. I want to go while I still  _remember_  things.”

x.

“Let me die before I fade. It’s what I want to do.”

“You don’t understand—” Hel started.

“Mama! We are not normal kids, so don’t reat us like we are. We know thing and we understand things. If I’m going to do die, I want to do it my way.”

Loki stepped up. “She can go to Yggdrasil early. She should become a part of it. Outlive even the gods.”

“What?” Asked Phil.

“She is not dead yet. If she returns to the Tree of Life, her conscious will meld with it.”

Róta grabbed Evangeline’s hand. “Where she goes, I go.”

“You’re touch won’t allow it,” said Loki.

“What do you want?” Phil asked Evangeline.

“To live,” answered Evangeline, “but…”

xi.

Phil held hands with Evangeline. His daughter. His baby girl. He didn’t want to let go.

They were at Yggdrasil, their family standing behind them. Róta clutched Hel’s dress, and Loki laid a comforting hand on his daughter’s shoulder.

“I’m not dying,” Evangeline said to her father. “I’m living.”

xii.

Róta was seventeen years old. She no longer spent much time in Helheim or Midgard. She traveled often and liked to visit her sister. She’s in front of Yggdrasil again, at the roots.

“I went to Alfeim a week ago. You’d have loved the songs and dances.”

She sat, mindful not to touch the roots lest the tree rots. She curled her arms around her knees, wishing to fade into nothing.

“Mama and Papa miss you, y’know. It’s a been a very long time and I still miss you.” Róta squeezed tighter. “You probably can’t see or hear me… but I… I think it’s best for family to be together. That’s why me and Grandpapa are planning a family reunion. Then we will be together.”

Róta stayed by Yggdrasil for a long time.  It was almost time to pay a visit to Jormugand and Fenrir. She stood up, brushing her trousers. She straightened and stretched before giving tree one last look before heading off.

The tree was golden and bright behind Róta, casting a looming shadow.

“I promise that I’m not bad, Evangeline. I’m just sometimes not good.”


End file.
